ANOTHER FINE MESS
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: E/O Drabble Challenge.  Prompt word: cozy.  For the Winchester brothers, hunts are never exactly fun. But this one tests the endurance of both men.
1. Chapter 1

Enkidu07's Drabble Challenge

Prompt Word: COZY.

Word Count: 100 words on the dot.

Other players in the challenge are now too many to list here! There're lots of people throwing Supernatural snowballs. You can find the list of names at Enkidu07's profile page and/or OnyxMoonbeam's profile page. Also, to find all of the lovely drabbles, there's a sweet little C2 community out there to subscribe to and enjoy. You can find the link on their profile pages mentioned above.

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Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the boys, playing around with Eric Kripke's sandbox.

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**Another Fine Mess**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

"So, what exactly do we have to do for this ritual tonight?" asked Dean.

"Oh, nothing too exciting. Some chanting, a few herbs, some fire…" murmured Sam, choosing to remain cozy about the details of their plan. He bit his lip and quickly turned his back to Dean.

Suspicious, Dean quirked an eyebrow, bunching the shirt he held into a ball. "Sam?"

Sam flicked a nervous glance over his shoulder but remained silent.

Dean frowned, lowered his voice to a growl. "Sammy?"

The younger man shoved his hands in his pockets. "Okay, there may be…a-an altar involved. And…um…blood."

"A sacrifice?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Yes," muttered Sam, "but no."

"Well, that's about as clear as mud. Think you could clarify?"

Sam huffed. "What I mean is, one of us has to get tied to the altar while the other," the younger Winchester hesitated, "the other…carves the sigils in a few places on his body."

"Gee, sounds downright cozy. And?"

"And it's all the steps right up to the sacrifice, but we shouldn't have to do the sacrifice itself."

"Mmm, comforting. I'll do it—the altar thing. You do the carving."

"Dean…"

"You're better at the sigils anyway. Just make sure the knife is sharp."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam swallowed hard, tightened the last rope restraining Dean to the altar. He patted Dean's bare foot as he rounded the table, taking up position. "You okay?"

"Oh yeah, perfectly comfy cozy."

Picking up the knife, Sam asked, "You ready?"

"Get to it."

Sam made the shallow first cut in the effort to summon Ammut, the Eater of the Dead. He carved the first three sigils quickly into Dean's chest.

Dean gasped as each incision burned. He gritted his teeth, unable to hold back a yell when Sam carved a sigil in the top and bottom of his left foot.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam carved the last sigil, his ears still ringing with his brother's stifled cries and curses. Raising the bloody knife high ready to plunge it deep, he chanted the last words.

A hard wind kicked up, stirred the trees, rattling the leaves. When it died, Ammut stood near, her ethereal beauty dark and corrupt. She smiled.

"Come closer," called Sam. "Claim what I offer."

She sauntered forward nearer the altar. Dipping three fingers in Dean's warm blood, she raised them to her mouth and licked away the viscous liquid. Her eyes rolled in ecstasy.

"Do it," she purred, eyes a-glitter.


	5. Chapter 5

"Do it," she commanded again, licking her lips in anticipation. The razor-sharp tips of her nails sank into Dean's upper arm.

He yelled, back arching off the altar. "Yeah, Sam, do it!" Dean bellowed, "Kill the BITCH!"

The crimson-coated knife descended with speed, plunged deep. Ammut's high-pitched scream filled the forest. She stumbled back, folded in on herself, crumpled to the ground. Within minutes all that remained was a pile of ash.

Sam quickly untied Dean, helped him up.

"Peachy. Oh, this is really gonna suck later," Dean croaked.

"Yeah it will, bro. Sorry. Let's go get you patched up."


	6. Chapter 6

Dean lay back on the bed, wincing as all the incisions protested and wept red. He watched as Sam gathered supplies from the first-aid kit. "Stitches?"

"No. Don't think so. I kept all the cuts shallow." Sam began the painful task of washing and bandaging the cuts.

Dean hissed at the sting.

"Dean…I'm sorry. I-I hated that," whispered Sam. "I would've gladly taken your place."

Dean patted his brother's shoulder. "I know, Sammy. It's okay. I'm fine. Cozied up here with my bottle of whiskey."

"Still…" Sam's hands shook.

"Hey…next time I'll be the artist, you'll be the canvass, okay?"

_**FIN**_


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